Sometimes Death Is Kinder
by Cassie's Neighbor
Summary: Nico understood what it meant to be truly alone. – Major spoilers for The House of Hades.


**A/N: I got angry when I read a couple of stories on this site concerning Nico, and this story is the product. I apologize. This story is not my best work, but at least I tried.**

**The scenes from this story are not in order. My take would be that Nico would remember them not in order as well.**

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**Percy Jackson & The Olympians/ The Heroes of Olympus**

**Title: **Sometimes Death Is Kinder

**Summary: **Nico understood what it meant to be truly alone. – Major spoilers for the House of Hades.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing save this story.

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~0~

Nico tries to pick off the dirt underneath his fingernails.

It's been a long time since he laid eyes on a nail cutter or anything of that sort, and he tries to pry off the dirt with a piece of wood he peeled off from the yard. He hopes he won't get splintered, but with his luck a monster might pop up from only gods know where and devour his finger.

He wonders how comical he must look, a boy with a piece of driftwood, cleaning his fingernails.

He throws the wood half-heartedly, with the thing flying at the opposite direction with the force of the wind. Nico scowls. Not the first time things don't go his way, but still.

He turns back to sulking, examining his fingernails. Some of the dirt remains. Nico leans on the mast, and sighs, putting an arm on his knee. He takes note of his clothes; the leather on the elbows are peeling off, his black jeans is smothered in grime and dirt, torn at the bottom with wear, the laces of his black Converse shoes are tied tightly to cover the feet that barely fitted inside. He used to wear boots but discarded them at the last minute after a little rundown with a Myrmeke, leaving his footwear glowing with acid. He hacked and slashed as the pebbles left blisters on the soles of his feet. He ran into a store and took the nearest black (of course) thing he could cover his feet with as the monster spewed viscous liquid on the cash register.

A minor footwear change notwithstanding, he never undertook a wardrobe change for good. A toga once in a while in Camp Jupiter, a heavy coat during wintertime, but never a cotton button-down for Christmas, never a "Don't Worry, Be Happy!" yellow abomination sold at Wal-Mart for a dollar and fifty. His clothes do serve a purpose. The black blends well with the shadows, and the mortals tend to stir clear of him instead of spitting bets on who wins the "Pulverize The Scrawny Kid In Two Seconds Flat" game. He fiddles with the ring – a gift from his father. He might have overdone the image with all the skulls and death theme, but he doesn't care. He likes it.

Nico can never bring himself to care about his appearance. Either way, nobody cared.

He takes a break and climbs down towards the deck, the body of Argo II, and his stomach starts rumbling a little. He ignores it. Save for the distinct mumbling inside Hedge's cabin and his stomach's feeble protests, the ship is eerily quiet.

He catches a glimpse of himself, and he hesitantly takes a step back. Nico peers at his reflection on the seawater.

His face is deathly pale under Artemis' realm, under the night sky and the gazillion stars. His lips look chapped and mournful. 'A mess' is an understatement to describe the state of Nico's hair – the ends curl like wings, the texture dry and stringy and lank, no glow, no sheen. His nose is rod straight save for a crook at the end, a testament to the number of times it had been broken. His eyes, Nico thinks savagely, his pitiful black eyes are dead. That's it. Just dead.

This boy is far from attractive. Probably the most atrocious creature on Earth.

The stream of bubbles from the sea glows underneath the moonlight, and Nico steps back from the end of the hull with a jolt. He mutters angrily under his breath, cursing himself for coming down to the main deck, and hauls himself up the mast.

He must have looked that way in Percy Jackson's seagreen eyes as he fell into Tartarus.

~0~

Whenever he sees a baby, Nico does everything just to get a glimpse of the eyes.

They say the eyes are the windows to one's soul. Funny how Nico used to make fun in his head of the proverbs he heard now and then, especially those about parenting and heaven and hell – if by all means the gods and the titans lack in everything in the parenting department, and if you think heaven is somewhere between the clouds then you have another thing coming.

But since Bianca, he hasn't been going off about proverbs, and probably won't be anytime soon.

Nico tries to look for the same penetrating eyes that his sister had – _has_ goddammit, it's _has _– and when he's not visiting Hazel in Camp Jupiter or dropping by Camp Half-Blood for the latest news on Percy, he scouts for Bianca.

Not Bianca, Nico always tells himself miserably, but the incarnation of Bianca.

He spots one in New Jersey, probably only a few months old. The same eye-color as Bianca's, but they are incredibly sad eyes. Bianca doesn't have sad eyes.

He knows better than any half-blood about the implications of rebirth, and ever since Bianca disappeared from the haven of Elysium he knows that she's out there in the mortal world – even though wishing she was reborn into a mortal is the sensible thing to wish for, Nico keeps on hoping that his sister would grow up to fight monsters someday. Ridiculous, he knows, but if anything, sons and daughters of Hades have always been sensitive to their past, champions in holding grudges, more backward-looking than forward-looking. Of course Nico now has a good fourteen years on Bianca, but he misses her dearly, and he would give up anything to see her again – as a cute, porcelain baby, a grouchy teenager, or a level-headed grown-up. Nico doesn't care at all. He wants to relive the glory days with Bianca, to apologize for being a sad excuse of a brother.

(He clams his hands into a fist, both shaking in anger as he slowly acknowledges that Bianca has left him again, and _W__hy?_, Nico asks himself over and over. He vows that if he ever comes across Bianca again, that would be the first thing he'd say)

He sees a baby strapped in a stroller, and Nico half-sprints towards the other end of the sidewalk where the carriage is before slowing down into a casual trot, glancing surreptitiously at the passenger of the stroller.

Dull blue eyes. An even duller smile. Nothing like his sister's.

He sighs inwardly and makes good of his walk by entering a McDonalds, scraping his muddy shoes on the doormat. The cashier eyes him warily as Nico orders a regular burger and a soda. He heads towards an empty table at the corner of the room – the shadows are crisscrossing at both ends. He imagines the CCTV showing a snooty-looking boy eating a cheeseburger at the corner of the room and vanishes in the thin air all under a minute. Nico fights to hide a smirk.

(Nico does get to meet Bianca's incarnate, but that's another story)

~0~

People say anger is wholly a bad thing; Nico thinks otherwise. A lot is accomplished under extreme rage and pain, and quite frankly it has been Nico's driving force since Bianca's (first) death. It's the main reason why he never succumbed to being remembered as only the scrap kid of Hades – not fear or shame or hunger, no – the reason why he never crawled under a rock, sucking his thumb like a ten-year-old is supposed to confronted by the same circumstances. Nico is strong when put that way, but at the same time weak and cowardly – he knows that no matter how strong a force anger can be, it's only a means to escape, a path leading further from victory.

Nico is no master strategist – he'll leave the burden of planning to someone else – but he knows how trade-offs work. He's been in the land down under (literally) for years, and he's been acquainted with Death better than any living creature there is. To avoid death, you have to give up the most primal of instincts and zero in on one only – it just so happens that anger suited him.

~0~

It is springtime in a faraway countryside in Italy. It took about months of careening the topography for a worthy shrine, but Nico got to work as soon as he found out about his mother.

The vision that appeared before him during the Titan War told him that Maria di Angelo were given the proper rites – covered in a shroud and lit up by the pyre – but a gossip in the EZ Death Lane told him that his mother was given a 'burial' of some sort, the woman being a Catholic first and foremost, that cremation was deemed unfit by the Church back in the 40s. The site he can never tell Nico, the ghost replied, for he had forgotten about it.

_It was a long time ago, and I used to serve my Lord directly at the time he was still allowed to have demigod children. I cleaned up for him so that Lady Persephone would not find out, oh the scandals the Lord procures every minute – _

And so Nico found the headstone, the lettering etched on the calcite washed away by the rain (Nico grimaces. How boneheaded his father's servants in the Underworld can be still astounds and grates him. Why limestone?) but he can still read the inscription. Just a simple _Maria di Ange_ in an elegant script, the _lo_, the birth and death date wiped away distinctly. No "a loving wife, mother, daughter" and all that crap, of course, because Hades knew better. For once, Nico di Angelo is grateful.

He doesn't try to summon his mother, this time at least. But he stares at the gravestone like the kid he is, the abandoned fourteen-year-old he is supposed to be. He lets his long and bony fingers graze the calcite. A few details from the stone washes away as he sniffs. He hasn't cried for a long time.

Nico leaves the countryside with a huge fissure on the hill and a new, polished marble headstone where a part of Maria di Angelo lies peacefully in her sleep.

~0~

"Any news?" Annabeth asks him again when he drops by in Camp Half-Blood with a packet of mud on his sneakers one day. Nico knows what she is talking about.

"No, nothing." Nico doesn't say_ I'm sorry_, for Nico has too many things to be sorry for to this daughter of Athena. _I'm sorry_ doesn't even cover what Nico feels about her.

Annabeth's shoulders slump visibly, which jars Nico for a bit. Must have been a tough day.

He doesn't take the offer to sit at the dining pavilion. Partly because he's not hungry, partly because he wants to avoid being seen by those new kids, particularly Jason – his cover will be blown for sure –, partly because he doesn't want to stay alone in the Hades table and be gawked at by the rest of the campers, new and old ones.

Mostly because he wants to avoid the scene where Annabeth takes the podium and talks about the hush-hush search operation, the absurd solemnity of the occasion akin to a funeral, because he foresees that he'll end up ripping out all of his hair from his scalp, because dammit, Percy Jackson's _alive_, how can you guys entertain such a thought? How can you say that he's dead? How can you guys give up on him?

And of course he'll end up saying that there's a Roman camp for Roman demigods and hey, why not create a civil war while we're at it?

As he takes a walk, following the footpath of the forest grounds, Nico is astounded at the amount of secrets he has and the gravity of each of them. Some are inconsequential ones, like the time he sneaked out of the Hades cabin one night to take a stroll, wary of man-eating harpies, and runs into a steamy make-out session between a guy from the Demeter cabin and the hot chick from Hermes underneath the strawberry bushes. Nico found the scene far from romantic, but it stirred that carnal, human longing that almost everybody has, and it left Nico hot and flushed and flustered and confused.

Of course Nico di Angelo finds girls attractive. They are sensual, hot things, yes, and they make his right hand ache sometimes (he doesn't like doing it, really. He's ashamed and embarrassed, but it's the surefire way to end the tingling pain underneath his jeans). But he knows it's not love. Far from it. He can always lust after girls. He knows the seven deadly sins. He knows the hundred worldly sins, even. He knows lust is inescapable. The remedy? It starts with an L as well.

Here's the big secret: maybe if you run it by that logic, it makes perfect sense why Eros would make Nico play pin-your-heart-on-the-son-of-Poseidon. Lust after girls, but fall in love with a guy. It seems okay, right? Right?

Nico stabs the dirt with his nightmarish sword. Of course not. How twisted is that? Ludicrous. Laughable. Exhausting sins is one thing, making two sins add up is another thing entirely.

Don't get the Ghost King wrong. Sexually liking someone is different from liking a person for who he is.

It's just a disgusting form of hero worship, Nico placates himself. It's just a phase. It'll pass.

But the emotions that threaten to disembowel him and everyone around him do not say so, and that's why he makes up excuses as he goes along, why he doesn't – can't_ – _stay long in Camp Half-Blood. Annabeth Chase does not even have an inkling, Nico sighs sadly. How remarkable it is that he can feel so strongly for her: jealous of her, sorrowful for her, bitter of her. He looks at her stormy gray eyes and is taken aback by the overwhelming feeling of envy, and at the same time angry for letting himself feel that way. She deserves a better frie –

No. He doesn't have any friends. Who is he fooling?

He wishes he is normal, because love is a powerful thing. He wants to experience it someday, but not like this.

~0~

_STUPID! IDIOT! _Nico yells at the top of his mental lungs as he holds on for his dear life, his hand gripping at the mouth of the chasm as the intense gravity pulls him down, down, down, towards the ominous, never-ending pit. The pain makes his eyes let a few tears escape as he tries to grip harder.

_Futile! _A grave voice echoes from the pit. _Silly half-blood! You will never escape!_

"Tell me something I don't know," Nico manages under the fog of the pain, and the essence of the pit responds with a harder pull, dragging the son of Hades closer and closer to his doom.

_Resisting? Bah! I admire your fortitude, but it will not last for long. Yield!_

Nico looks underneath him, and regrets the decision as soon as he did. He fears the unknown greatly. The unknown of living on scraps while roaming the streets, the unknown of interacting with the living, the unknown of feeling strongly for a person. Now he fears the unknown of what lies below him the most, the horrors of Tartarus that even the creatures of the Underworld refuse to speak of. He refuses to die right now, the sacrifice of his sister dying in a matter of seconds. So he holds on for gods know how long, but he's slipping.

The spirit of Tartarus knows this, and the gravity pulls him down harder with glee.

The rock he is holding on breaks under the strain and he tumbles down even further, until he slams his sword on the chasm with an ear-splitting shriek.

The blood that had been boiling a few minutes ago starts to cool, and both hands grasping the sword hilt are sweaty, bloodied, and clammy, and Nico hears not only one but multiple voices egging him to let go.

_Why do you fight? _One says. _You have nothing to fight for._

_Why do you fight? Gaea will always win._

_Why do you fight? Give up._

_Why do you fight? Give in._

_Why do you fight? Why do you fight? Why do you fight?_

"Why do I fight?" Nico repeats to himself, his voice laced with every kind of sadness there is. "Why do I… Why do I…"

His fingers start to tremble and his grip loosens.

_You are doomed forever, son of Hades. You are born alone. You will die alone. You are nothing. No one cares about you. It's time to end it. Why do you suffer? Give in, give in._

"I…" Nico wavers. He looks up from the chasm and sees nothing save a reminder of those eyes that saved him in Westover Hall, the same eyes that promised his sister's safety, the same eyes that angered him, that repulsed him, that made him feel – made him a –

_He never cared about you. No one did._

"Stop." Nico shuts his eyes to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Stop."

_Give up! Stop denying yourself! Fall!_

"I –"

_Nico._

Nico's eyes open abruptly. His grip on the hilt tightens a fraction. "Mama?"

_Let go, cherubino. I'll catch you._

"Mama? Mama?"

The chanting beneath him grows louder. _Give in! Give in! Give in!_

_Don't worry, Nico._ He hears the faint voice tell him._ I'm here. I'll always be with you._

_I love you, my son. Just let go._

He pulls his sword away from the chasm, the pull of the pit swallowing him as he tries to ignore the other voices.

For the first time, Nico lets himself fall.

~0~

"I had a crush on Percy. That's the truth. That's the big secret."

~0~


End file.
